"And I don't want any of yours," fired back Batonby, slapping his glove from one hand to the other. "I say I wasn't talking about you!"
"I say you were. My name is Shalleg!"
Batonby let out a whistle of surprise.
"Is that the one?" he asked of Joe.
"Well, all I've got to say," went on Batonby, "is that I hope you don't get on our team. And, for your information," he went on, as he saw that Shalleg was fairly bursting with passion, "I'll add that all I said about you was that I heard you were trying to get on the Cardinals. As for Matson, he said even less about you."
"That's all right, but you fellows want to look out," mumbled Shalleg, who seemed nonplused on finding that he had no good grounds for a quarrel.
"And I want to add," broke in Joe, who felt that he had a right to say something in his own behalf, "I want to add that I'm about through with hearing threats from you, Mr. Shalleg," and he accented the prefix. "I haven't said anything against you, and I don't expect to, unless you give me cause. You've been following me about, making unjustified remarks, and it's got to stop!"
"Hurray!" cried Batonby. "That's the kind of mustard to give him. Heave at it again, Joe!"
The young pitcher stood facing his enemy fearlessly, but he had said enough. Shalleg growled out: